


there's bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyway

by exhaustedwerewolf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (very vaguely), ... there's probably going to be a lot more of these, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, my Inquisitor rejected Dorian's initial... proposition, this is so self indulgent I'm sorry I should be writing the AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 22:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhaustedwerewolf/pseuds/exhaustedwerewolf
Summary: Dorian wakes alone in the Inquisitor's quarters after their first night spent together, and struggles to understand why.





	there's bones in my closet, but you hang stuff anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Jon Bellion's "Guillotine."

Dorian stirred gradually to wakefulness, blinked open his eyes to soft sunlight and a sloping stone ceiling. It was as he pushed himself into a sitting position, raising an arm to shield his tired eyes, his movement rustling the fine sheets, that he remembered where he was, and glanced towards the space beside him.

 

The  _ empty  _ space beside him.

 

He'd be embarrassed to think on it later, but his first, instinctive, spontaneous thought was;  _ Of course. _

 

Because it was not the first time he had woken up alone. Because, still hazy and heavy-eyed, his mind returned first to nights passed with strangers in Tevinter, to brief and desperate encounters that had been hurriedly snuffed out come sunrise. Because the Inquisitor was grand, and had a reputation to uphold, and had probably had enough now, was eager to forget the whole thing. Because this wasn’t anything new to Dorian, because he had some dignity, because he was perfectly able and perfectly content to slip back to his own quarters quickly and quietly.

 

He was casting about for his robes, still shaking off the clinging cobwebs of sleep, had just spied the pile of clothes close to the bed, before, quite abruptly, he snapped back to the present. His memories of the past night reappeared, fully-formed and suddenly, as if conjured directly into his mind. Cold stone and shared warmth and Lucan's eyes on his and the stack of papers on his desk fluttering to the floor-

 

And the Inquisitor, the Herald, the demon and darkspawn and dragon slayer, clutching Dorian close, half-laughing, half-mumbling into his shoulder; "I'm sort of terrified I'm going to mess this up."

 

Because it might not have been Dorian's first time waking up alone, but this morning had been Lucan's first time waking up next to someone else. 

 

And he had  _ left. _

 

The bitter resignation that had been gathering in Dorian's throat dissolved, and was replaced by a sense of concern that built as he rapidly pulled on his clothes. Another conversation struck him like a thunderbolt- same place, different time, Lucan pulling away from him, averting his eyes. "Aren't we moving a little fast?" Shy, Dorian remembered observing, partly amused, but shaky too, raw anxiety lurking plainly just under the surface of the half-hearted smile. 

 

The worry mounted as Dorian hurriedly jammed on his boots, and stumbled to his feet in search of a mirror. Because what if Lucan hadn't disappeared because he was above this but because he was unhappy, or hurt, or both? After some undignified hobbling, Dorian found a small mirror hung low over the dresser; he had to bend over awkwardly to get into frame. Hurriedly, he raked his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to appear presentable. The alarm on his face was obvious, even in the small square of glass; he took note of his rapid breathing and attempted to school it. No matter how he quipped about being an evil magister, he had no actual desire to emulate one, ensnaring and exploiting affection for his benefit only, giving nothing back, or worse, harming where he meant to help. Images flashed through his mind; Lucan summoning a smile for a friend, assuring them that he was alright, Lucan sitting alone on the battlements, his face buried in his arms, Lucan on his own… With an agitated noise, he deemed his hair a lost cause and spun away from the mirror, to pace the length of the room.

 

Almost certainly, he was being dramatic, working himself up over nothing, and Lucan was less delicate than he thought.  _ Think rationally.  _ He told himself, and turned his attention to the ambiguous whiteish daylight coming in through the windows. He had no idea of the hour and therefore no clue to the Inquisitor's possible whereabouts. ( _ Not _ that he had any intimate knowledge of Lucan’s routine schedule. That would be foolish.) Probability, however, suggested that he was being held hostage by his advisors in the war room. If he wasn’t there, Dorian decided, he’d have a search on his hands, but it was the most logical starting point. He’d find him, gauge how he was, and if he was fine- nothing more to it. If not… he’d simply have to work it out from there.

 

Decisively, he turned on his heel, walked quickly down the steps, and strode towards the door. Without hesitation, he threw it open- and yanked into the room Lucan Trevelyan, still holding the knob on the other side. Dorian had time only to close his eyes and throw up his hands before Lucan collided with him with a surprised shout, and they went down together. 

 

There was a great clattering sound accompanied by several shattering sounds, followed by the ungraceful noise of two grown men crumpling to the stone floor. 

 

When he’d judged the chaos had passed and Dorian cautiously cracked opened an eye, it was to find Lucan practically collapsed on top of him. After a heartbeat of silence, The Inquisitor pushed himself up onto his hands, and winced.

 

"Ow." He said, almost too quietly for Dorian to hear, and then he seemed to notice the mage staring up at him and started. "Dorian!" He scrambled away and off of him. "Maker's breath, I'm so sorry, are you alright?" 

 

"I'm quite alright, amatus." Dorian assured him, struggling into a sitting position with as much dignity as possible, internally checking himself over to determine whether he’d just answered truthfully. It seemed he had. "Are you-"

 

"I'm fine." Lucan covered his mouth with his hand in an embarrassed gesture Dorian had come to recognise. "I- really am sorry."

 

"What is all of this?" Dorian inquired, looking around at the remains of whatever Lucan had been carrying, rubbing at the back of his head where the stone had struck the floor. They were surrounded by shattered ceramic, scattered slices of bread- Dorian spotted an overturned tray. Lucan’s hair was damp with something that had been spilt in the collision. Dorian’s hand was braced in a puddle of the stuff. He retracted it delicately, and caught the distinct scent of freshly brewed tea. It dawned on him- frighteningly obvious, really, and relief blossomed in his heart. "You were bringing breakfast?" Dorian asked, oddly charmed.

 

"I-" Lucan dropped his hand. "Was. I’m sorry, I suppose I shouldn't have assumed."

 

"Assumed what?" Dorian replied.

 

"You were just on your way out, weren't you?" Lucan tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He gestured, bizarrely formally for a man sitting on the floor and soaked with tea, towards the door. "Please don't feel you have to,” he hesitated, “to stay." 

 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ And Dorian couldn’t help but feel delight surge within him, as the realisation hit home, as Lucan waited, his head lowered now to hide the vanished smile he’d failed to maintain, but his eyes still on Dorian, quietly hopeful. Because he’d gone to get  _ breakfast, the thoughtful bastard. _ Dorian could feel himself smiling. He’d  _ wanted _ him to stay, and now here he was, worried about exactly the same thing-

 

"Amatus," Dorian reached out and gently brushed away a piece of ceramic that had somehow landed in Lucan's hair. "You ridiculous creature. I was only going to look for you." At this, Lucan looked up with an astonished expression, almost disbelieving. Dorian graced him with his signature grin. “I was afraid I’d frightened you off.” At this, the Inquisitor let out a surprised, relieved laugh, and put a hand to his forehead.

 

“Oh. I’m sorry. Thank the Maker.”

 

“That’d be with my frighteningly good looks, of course.” Dorian added playfully, drawing another happy laugh from Lucan.

 

Dorian chuckled in reply, before he leant forward carefully so as to avoid the scattered shards of ceramic, gently took Lucan’s face in his hands, and kissed him. 

 

When Dorian pulled back and opened his eyes again, the sunlight seemed a little brighter, a little warmer. But it was nothing compared to the look Lucan was giving him, a look that made his heart stutter, his breath catch.

 

_ He loves you. _ The thought materialised like it had always been there, something that had been just out of sight coming visible again.

 

It scared him. But what scared him infinitely more was that despite it, he wanted to stay.

 

For now, he hid it away again.

 

“Well, I...” smiled Lucan, blissfully unaware, dazed from the kiss. “I think I’d better get this cleaned up.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dorian began as he stood, dusting himself off with an elegant flick of his fingers before offering a hand to Lucan. He first shied away, blinking in confusion, before looking to Dorian, who arched a questioning eyebrow. Blushing in a manner that didn’t strike Dorian as very Inquisitor-like, Lucan took his hand, and allowed Dorian to pull him to his feet. 

 

“I think cleaning up can wait.” Dorian continued, when the Inquisitor was standing. “Those cups are hardly getting any more broken.” Lucan spared the carnage a disappointed glance, and sighed.

 

“I suppose you’re right.”

 

Dorian reached out to gently turn Lucan’s gaze back to his own.

 

“Besides,” he said, smiling slowly. “I think there’s something I’d rather do first.”


End file.
